Riley's Retribution Page 11

“I know,” he answered, wishing that the Golden Saddle had a closed-circuit TV system. But apparently the equipment had been too pricey for Courtney.

  They had already moved Buttercup to the large stall at the end of the row. Glad of something constructive to do, Riley helped Kelly muck out the stall and add fresh dry hay. All the while, he spoke to Buttercup, telling her she was going to have a fine baby very soon.

  By that evening the mare was pawing at the straw and pacing around in the stall. After a quick dinner, Riley went back to the barn. Even though the chance of her developing problems was slight, he also knew that if something unexpected happened, he’d have to deal with it quickly.

  He set out a kit of items he might need. But since a mare could stop her labor during the first stage if she was disturbed, he spread a blanket for himself on a pile of straw outside the stall.

  He’d gotten very little sleep in the past couple of days, and he must have dozed off. The next thing he knew, a strangled exclamation woke him. Staggering up, he crossed to the stall and found Courtney down on her knees beside the horse.

  Buttercup was lying on her side, pushing, but when he looked between her legs, he saw what Courtney had spotted—a red bag at the entrance to the birth canal. And he knew what it meant. Premature separation of the placenta.

  “Lord, why didn’t I call the vet…” she gasped.

  “Because something like this is so rare,” he answered, knowing that immediate action was critical because the foal’s oxygen came from the placenta, and it was no longer attached to the uterus. If they didn’t get the foal out of his mother fast, it would suffocate.

  There was no time to panic.

  “Talk to Buttercup. Tell her everything’s going to be okay,” Riley directed, even when he knew it might be a lie.

  He had no time for false moves. Dashing out of the stall, he grabbed the scissors that he’d gotten ready—just in case. Courtney was bending over the mare, speaking soothingly to her.

  “I should be the one to do it,” she murmured.

  “No. Let me. She trusts you. You can keep her calm.”

  Courtney answered with a tight nod, stroking Buttercup’s face as she bent to whisper soft words.

  Feeling an unexpected composure wash over him, Riley knelt down at the other end of the mare and used the scissors to open the placenta, being careful not to cut Buttercup.

  “I’ll help her deliver if she needs me,” Riley murmured, keeping his voice low and even to avoid alarming the horse.

  Buttercup pushed again. When he saw two feet emerge, the tension began to ease from his body.

  “The foal’s in the normal position,” he said, then saw the head follow, with the ears slicked back against the skull.

  “Thank God,” Courtney breathed.

  As Riley gently tugged, Buttercup pushed her baby into the world.

  Both he and Courtney breathed sighs of relief as she turned and began to lick her colt. He raised his beautiful chestnut head and looked at his mother.

  They kept working together, making sure the baby had no breathing problems and washing Buttercup’s udders.

  By the time the foal had stood and taken his first drink of colostrum, Riley was exhausted.

  “Thank you,” Courtney said.

  “We made a good team,” he answered. They had worked together well, and it had felt good.

  But now that the crisis was over, he could see Courtney was wavering on her feet. “You need some sleep,” he told her.

  “I was about to make the same observation to you.”

  They stepped out into the frosty air of early morning. When he started back to the bunkhouse, she reached for his arm. “I want to thank you for being here. I mean it. That colt could have died. But you saved him.”

  “I was doing my job,” he said stiffly.

  “More than your job. You could have called in someone else hours ago. But you stuck with Butter-cup—and with me,” she said softly.

  His own voice remained gritty. “I wanted to see it through.”

  “And now you need to sleep. We both do. If you go back to the bunkhouse, the guys will disturb you. So why don’t you use one of the guest bedrooms in my house?”

  He wanted to ask why she was being nice to him. Instead he glanced toward the bunkhouse, where a light already shone in the kitchen window.

  Courtney followed his gaze. “You go on and get some sleep. I’ll tell Jake what happened and where you are. The bed in the room at the end of the hall is made up.”

  He answered with a small nod. The two of them needed to talk. But he didn’t have the stamina for that now. He was exhausted, and he knew that he needed peace and quiet.

  So he accepted her offer.

  He entered the main house, then went down to the end of the hall to a blue-and-yellow room. After closing the door and the curtains, he staggered into the shower to clean up.

  He might have slept naked, but some of his brain cells were still working. When he opened the closet, he found some men’s soft flannel shirts. He put one on, then piled his dirty clothing on the chair in the corner.

  The double bed was cold, and he spent a few min utes shivering—until his body heat warmed the sheets. Before he knew it, he was sleeping soundly.

  TEN HOURS LATER, Riley was still out cold. Obviously he was exhausted, so Courtney left him alone.

  She’d tried to keep busy during the day. Now she sat down on the chair and took off her boots, then walked to her bedroom in her stocking feet.

  She didn’t want to look all soft and feminine when Riley finally woke up. But her maternity jeans were feeling confining. So she changed into one of her dresses, hoping he wouldn’t think she was doing anything special for him.

  She’d checked on Buttercup and her foal several times. Both mom and baby were doing fine.

  She’d asked the other men to check, as well. Probably they were wondering what she and Riley were doing in here. The answer was nothing—but that would have to change.

  They needed to have a serious talk. She’d been so angry and hurt that she’d wanted to tell him to leave. Then she’d seen that there might be some logic to the way he’d introduced himself to Boone Fowler. Establishing his credentials, so to speak.

  Edward had told her stories about his exploits on some covert assignments. And that had gotten her wondering seriously about Riley Watson.

  The guy he’d been fighting with hadn’t been local. And he’d gotten out of town as soon as he was released from jail. So was he someone sent here to get into a bar fight with Riley?

  That was a pretty elaborate scenario. And not very likely. Still, Riley wasn’t exactly acting like a guy who was just a ranch manager—although he’d proved he knew horses last night.

  She tiptoed down the hall, listening outside his door. When she heard a noise inside, she went still.

  Riley groaned and shouted something.

  Suddenly she thought about the guy who’d shot at her—maybe the same guy who’d followed her from town. Or the person who had broken the leg on her step stool.

  Was he here—attacking Riley? Or was this some kind of fallout from the fight in the bar two nights before.

  Acting quickly, she turned the knob and pushed into the room.

  The shades were drawn, but in the shaft of light coming from the hall, she could see Riley was alone in bed, his head thrashing on the pillow.

  He called out again, and she stood transfixed as she heard him say, “You can do any damn thing to me you want, you bastard, but I’m not going to tell you squat. So you might as well put me back in solitary.” He ground out the words, in a low, gravelly voice.

  But his brave speech was followed immediately by a groan, and she was pretty sure he was reliving some horrible episode from his past. Lord, what had happened to him?

  He made a harsh sound of pain, and she knew she had to bring him back to the present.

  Quickly she crossed the room and bent over the bed, her long hair sweeping down in a curtain
as she leaned over the sleeping man and touched his shoulder.

  “Riley, wake up. You’re having a bad dream.”

  She hadn’t been prepared for his reaction. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her down to the surface of the bed. Then his hands were around her throat.

  She screamed, instinctively flailing at him with her hands and feet.

  His grip tightened, cutting off her breath, and she felt a moment of blind, stark terror.

  Riley, no! She screamed the plea in her mind, praying he could somehow hear her.

  She heard him curse as the pressure on her windpipe eased abruptly.

  “Courtney?”

  “Yes,” she wheezed.

  “Oh, God, are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  She flipped her hair out of the way and saw the anguished look on his face.

  “I’m so sorry. I thought…you…were the enemy.” His voice was laced with pain. He started to heave himself out of the bed, then cursed again. “I’m not exactly dressed for company.”

  “You have on a shirt.”

  “But no pants.”

  “Oh,” she said stupidly, then realized that while she had him off balance she might as well try to get some facts out of him.

  “You were in a jail?”

  “A prison camp.”

  “Overseas?”

  “No,” he said sharply, focusing on her. “Are you trying to pump me for information?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “So tell me why I came to get you out of the pokey and found you with Boone Fowler.”

  “He was being friendly. I figured I’d get to know him.”

  “Just because you want to help me?”

  He looked down at the blanket. “I wish you wouldn’t keep asking questions.”

  “Because you hate lying to me.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’ve been doing it, anyway.”

  “Yeah.”

  She turned her head away and started to get off the bed. His hand shot out and circled her wrist.

  “Wait.”

  “Give me a reason why I should stay.”

  In the darkened bedroom he dragged in a breath and let it out. “Because the idea of your hating me is intolerable.”

  When she hesitated, he went on in a low voice. “Getting into a bar fight over the war and getting my ass arrested was a great way to meet Fowler. But being in jail the other night made me flash back to prison camp. Being in a cell. Being under someone else’s control. That’s why I had the nightmare.”

  “Oh, Lord, Riley. I’m so sorry.”

  She heard him swallow. “Let me hold on to you.”

  The way he said it made her feel like he was the needy one. Wondering if she was making the biggest mistake of her life, she eased back onto the mattress. She could feel herself trembling, perhaps from the cold.

  He must have felt it, too, because he pulled aside the covers. “Get under,” he said gruffly.

  “We both know I shouldn’t. Especially when I can’t trust you.”

  “I think I proved I can behave myself in bed.”

  “I’m not just talking about now. I’m talking about the big picture.”

  “Get under the covers, and we’ll figure that out later.”

  It was an outrageous suggestion. He was taking liberties with her emotions. Maybe he was even trying to manipulate her. And if she knew what was good for her, she should get up and leave the room as fast as she could.

  Chapter Eleven

  To Courtney’s amazement, she did as he asked. Maybe she was living in a fairy tale. Maybe she wanted to forget the weight of responsibility resting on her shoulders—at least for a little while.

  Closing her eyes, she lay down beside him.

  “Thank you,” he breathed as he gathered her into his arms.

  She snuggled into his warmth and his scent. Once before, he had held her in his arms in a bed, but she knew this time was different. Back then, they hadn’t known each other. Now they had been through a lot together—in a very short time.

  He kissed her cheek, then pressed his face against her hair. “You smell so good,” he murmured.

  “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  “But I’m a guy.”

  “Good in a very masculine way.”

  His hands stroked up and down her back. She was aware of his bare legs below the shirt. Well, more than his bare legs. He was aroused. Yet he didn’t pull her against his body.

  “So, what do you want to do here?” he asked, his voice low and thick.

  “Not as much as you do.”

  “I just want to be close to you.”

  She cleared her throat. “Your body says that’s a lie.”

  “Physiological reaction.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  She settled her head against his shoulder, thinking that she might just sleep beside him, warm and safe in his arms.

  But as he quietly nuzzled his lips in her hair, stroked her neck and shoulders, she found herself wanting more. Unable to tell him in words, she nibbled her lips against his jaw, feeling the stubble of his beard.

  “Maybe I should shave.”

  “Don’t get out of bed.”

  “Okay.” He turned his head, and their lips met in a light, sweet kiss.

  He made no demands on her. She was the one who deepened the kiss, opening her mouth, probing his lips with her tongue.

  He groaned, gathering her closer. As he had before, he stroked the sides of her breasts, then glided his hands toward the centers, making a low sound when he brushed over her hardened nipples.

  “Oh…! You’re going to make me come apart, just by doing that,” she gasped, then felt her face flame as she realized what she’d said.

  “That’s quite a compliment,” he murmured.

  “Don’t get a swelled…head.”

  He laughed, and she liked the sound. His laugh was low and sexy. And very, very warm.

  His hand moved to her middle, stroking over the curve of her abdomen.

  “I’m fat,” she murmured. “And my breasts are so big.”

  He chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? What guy would complain about big breasts?”

  “I guess you have a point there,” she conceded.

  “Don’t you know how sexy and feminine you feel to me?” he asked.

  “I’m embarrassed by the way I look.”

  “It’s dark in here. I can’t see a thing.” He reached under the hem of her dress, pushing it slowly up, giving her time to object. She felt herself tense.

  He stroked his lips against her jaw and cheek and eyelids as his hand gently explored her body.

  “You are lovely.”

  “But you can’t see me.”

  “Lovely to touch. Smooth skin. Sexy curves.”

  Rolling her onto her side, he unhooked her bra, then lay down behind her, pressed tight against her. She could feel his almost naked body and his erection wedged against her bottom as he pushed her bra out of the way, then took one breast in his hand, making her cry out again as he teased her nipple.

  “Oh, Riley.”

  One hand moved down her body again and into her panties. She was swollen and wet, and ready for his touch.

  Her breath came in little gasps as he stroked her most-sensitive flesh with one hand, while he moved the other from one breast to the other—triggering a shattering orgasm that brought a cry of joy to her lips.

  She collapsed back against him, still breathing hard.

  “Nice,” he whispered, kissing her cheek. “That was so nice.”

  “And you’re still hard as a fence post,” she managed to say between panting breaths.

  “I’m okay.”

  Ignoring his quick rejoinder, she said, “I’d like to do something about that.”

  He breathed in a draft of air and let it out. “What? I mean, you need to tell me what’s okay for us to do.”

  “I think we could. I mean…” She fumbled fo
r the right words, glad that her face was hidden from him. “I think we could make love…with you still in back of me like this. If that would work for you.”

  “Oh, yeah. It would work just fine for me.”

  He pushed her panties down, caressing her bottom, and she used her feet and legs to get rid of the flimsy garment. She expected to feel him inside her in the next moment. But he stayed where he was, pressed tightly against her, reaching around to stroke her breasts and her sex again, stoking her pleasure until she was squirming in his arms.

  “Riley…please…I need…”

  “Yes….”

  He angled his hips and slipped inside her from the back, exclaiming in pleasure as she closed tightly around him.

  He kept his hands where they had been before, stroking her breasts and between her legs, fueling her pleasure as he moved inside her with measured strokes.

  She heard him cry out as his body tensed with release, then she followed him over the edge.

  For long moments they lay quietly in the darkened bedroom.

  “Was that okay for you?” she finally asked.

  He turned her in his arms, kissed her on the mouth. “A lot more than okay.”

  She wanted to ask what making love had meant to him. And she wanted to ask him if he was ready to tell her what he was really doing at the Golden Saddle Ranch. But she was afraid to speak the words, because she didn’t want to hear that he wasn’t going to tell her. And she wanted to cherish this time with him. So she settled down beside him and closed her eyes.

  She felt him relax, as though he’d been waiting for another question and she’d let him off the hook.

  RILEY LAY IN THE DOUBLE BED, holding Courtney while she slept. It was easy to picture himself staying at the Golden Saddle, taking over more than the duties of ranch manager. But he still wasn’t free to tell her what he was really doing in her employ. And he knew she was going to hate him when she found out the size of the lies he’d spun her.

  It had been a mistake to sleep with her. He should never have invited her into his bed, because the intimacy was only going to make things worse when the final showdown came.

  But he had been so needy when she walked into the room that he’d talked her under the covers.

  He was the chameleon, the man who could make himself into anyone he wanted. And he’d worked his sleight of hand on Courtney. Maybe he’d even used it on himself this time, because making love with her had felt so damn good. So damn right.